


Overheard

by The_Freedom_Roadblocks



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Amputation, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Canon Era, Character Death, Fluff, M/M, Suicide, Suicide Notes, World War I, referenced homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 07:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4295700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Freedom_Roadblocks/pseuds/The_Freedom_Roadblocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 Times Enjolras overheard Grantaire talking about him and 1 time it was the other way around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overheard

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill from Tumblr. 
> 
> Reincarnation AU. Warnings for blood, character death (well they come back...), alcohol, amputation, suicide, referenced homophobia. Read at own risk.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not Victor Hugo, this is purely a piece written out of love for the characters.

1 - 1832

At the Musain on the cusp of midnight. 

Blue ice streaked the windows and frost dressed the frames. Grantaire sat with his back to the door, nose in his drink, hair a nest of tar-coloured curls. The wood creaked as Jehan stood up from the hearth and the embers crackled peacefully. Grantaire sighed, long and weary. Enjolras stood, poised, and ready to knock against the door frame. But then Jehan, who had taken a turn past the window and sat down beside Grantaire, spoke up without ceremony.

“So is it a man or a boy that you so long after?” 

Enjolras’ breathe caught. He knew this was not a conversation he was welcome to overhear. Still, he only moved back a fraction so he was out of sight. His curiosity was like the morbid fascination an animal, dead, on the roadside inspired.

“A man,” answered Grantaire and Jehan covered his mouth with his hand. “Who appears like a mere boy in many ways, but is a man in many others.”

“How delightfully devious of you Grand-R.”

“He’ll never have me,” said Grantaire. “He’s far too proper for such a… courtship.”

“I think not, if he’s sending you signals?”

“If he is, then he’s being more discrete than I realise,” said Grantaire without a lick of humour. Enjolras trembled in his hiding spot. What man would so deceive Grantaire?

Jehan held up a finger, as though he had come to some great revelation, and both Grantaire and Enjolras waited impatiently for him to share.

“When a man loves a man,” began Jehan. Enjolras flinched. He had never heard those words out loud. A man could not love a man, it was impossible, and, yet, here he was, uncertain and enamoured by Grantaire. (Fear shook every inch of him at just the thought of it). Perhaps he was not a man truly but something else hosted in a man’s body? He did not believe in god and he did not believe in devils, only what is human. He was not a creature of sin. Just a perversion of nature? He did not know and, much of the time, he did not care.

Jehan was still speaking, “—because one must trick all others into believing you are playing a different game, banter is sweet and raised voices like honey.”

“I have had too much or too little wine to follow you,” muttered Grantaire. “But his voice is like honey… his hair like gold and his eyes so sweet and hard… I long for something I cannot have.”

“Is truth,” said Jehan. “That anticipation is sweeter than the prize itself. Afterwards your love becomes too well known and loses the wonderful mystery. Better pine away in silence than succumb to the beauty of sensation.” 

“My love would never loose his beauty. I would never tire if I could run my fingers through his hair and kiss his lips like they are petals of a budding rose—”

Having heard enough, Enjolras crept back silently, Grantaire’s words hissing in his ears. This man Grantaire spoke of like he was bathed in sunlight, like he was more than mortal with the beauty of Narcissus or Adonis, this man Enjolras swore to despise. He would lead Grantaire like a pup away from the Cause, away from Enjolras, right into the yawning jaws of prosecution, death and desolation. 

Jealousy is a sickness.

At the Barricade Enjolras told Grantaire to leave. Where is your precious lover? It was only when he took his hand that everything fell into place. 

2 - 1913

Blood, so much blood.

How they will survive Enjolras didn’t know.

The whole tent shook when the bombs hit and fire rained from the sky. It blanketed the canvas in ash and smothered the sky with smoke. Enjolras’ shirt was damp where Courfeyrac had cried through it. The memory of Combeferre’s blank eyes lingered as they stared transfixed at the dimming sunset, bloody in Enjolras’ arms. he knew—more in theory than practice—that people died at war. When he closed his eyes Combeferre was still smiling and breathing… more alive than dead to him. He wasn’t dead. It was a trick. A dream.

On a cot, behind the screen, he heard Grantaire’s voice ring out. Deep in tone and cadence it caught his attention. It had a masculine beauty to it that, aloud, Enjolras would never admit. He smelled cigar smoke too, it was filling up the tent like a gas chamber.

“You wouldn’t deprive a dead man of one last smoke?” Grantaire said. The nurse protested. “You hear that noise,” continued Grantaire. “That’s the sound of hell ready to swallow us up. About time too. What is that harm of a little smoke?”

Enjolras then heard Joly’s voice join the conversation, so soft he had to strain his ears to follow.

“Have some faith,” muttered Joly. “God is with us and will keep us safe.”

“Bullshit!—sorry m’am, sorry—but God will let us die like dogs. He doesn’t care.”

“It’s the pain talking,” said Joly, maybe to the nurse. “Get some more water.”

Enjolras saw her emerge from Grantaire’s bedside and drift like a shadow behind semi-translucent folds of fabric. 

“Better indeed if the one I love could have lived longer…” said Grantaire, like a prayer. “But now, two soulmates, we shall face our ending together… That’s Ovid Joly. He knew real love.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Joly assured him and dread settled like a stone in Enjolras’ stomach. “But you’re going to be alright, mon ami. You’ll get some cool metal legs… And that guy you always speak of, you’ll be with him once the war is over and move to Switzerland and live together like you always say. You’ve got so much to live for.”

Enjolras’ chest clenched up. Grantaire was fading. 

“He’ll be dead,” said Grantaire. “Dead as us all. Dead as satan. Dead as God.”

“Oh Grantaire…”

“Where’s Enjolras?” Grantaire’s voice grew desperate. “Where?”

“He’ll be nearby, don’t you worry…”

“I need him, I need to see him.”

“Yes, yes, okay,” said Joly, upset.

Enjolras made himself appear to not be listening just in time for Joly to emerge. 

“Oh there you are,” whispered Joly. “Come quickly.”

Enjolras’ feet barely moved but he was beside Joly before he was ready to see the hopeless pits of his eyes. 

“Will he be okay?” Enjolras asked.

Joly’s lips thinned. “He wants to be with you.”

Grantaire lay on the bed, gaunt and pale. The stubs of his legs where bandaged and strained blood red on white. His head was wrapped together too, his skin grey but his eyes peeked out bright and blue.

“Enjolras…” he croaked. 

Enjolras said nothing. He pressed his palms to Grantaire’s cheeks and watched his tears splash onto his lips.

“Don’t cry,” said Grantaire. “Now I know I’m doomed.”

“No…” Enjolras rested his head on Grantaire’s chest. “Not you too. The man you said you loved. You have to live to see him again and live on the mountains like you said.”

Grantaire laughed and kept laughing until he coughed and choked and his body grew too weak to breathe.

“I’m with the one I love at last,” he wheezed and closed his eyes. “You, Enjolras.”

Enjolras sat up. “You mean?” He shook Grantaire to rouse him. “You were talking about… the whole time it was…? Grantaire!”

He shook him harder and his eyes flickered. He was barely breathing. 

“Grantaire!” he cried. Grantaire was all but gone. “You deplorable bastard, you can’t leave me like this! Grantaire!”

The nurse didn’t bother to pull Enjolras away, there were other sick and injured her duty called her to.

Hours passed and Grantaire did not wake again.

Eventually Enjolras’ lungs burnt with smoke as the world drowned in fire.

3 - 1980’s

The fire crackled in the hearth. On the TV protesters cheered.

The decriminalisation of homosexuality had been met with excitement on the streets and in the home. Enjolras would be out there with them but he could no longer manage to leave the retirement village on his own and the nurses refused to take him after the last ‘incident’. A man who had had three strokes started telling him about the time he’d been intimate with Bob Dylan, which was not a story he particularly wanted to hear but suffered through because he was just so darn happy. 

Combeferre saved him by walking in. He was aided only by his walking stick and the lines of his face crumpled in both a permanent smile and frown. He leaned down to kiss Enjolras’ forehead.

“It finally happened,” said Enjolras but the excitement was already making it hard for him to breathe. He coughed and coughed. Then smiled. “They must have read all my letters.”

Combeferre sat on the arm chair beside him and took his hand in his. “What are we watching?”

“The news special—shhh!”

On the TV an older woman walked on stage. She gave a speech about how her and her husband had supported gay and lesbian relationships despite a rocky start after a few friends came out. Enjolras didn’t hear a lot of it, his ears were not what they used to be and he was trying to place her face.

“That’s Cosette!” Combeferre exclaimed, suddenly.

“No, no, that’s her daughter…. what’s her name?” said Enjolras, ginning. “What a small world.”

“—I remember,” she continued. Her voice sounded tinny over the speakers. “My whole world view shifted when I got home after school and my mother was crying. One of her close friends, an artist who had stayed with us a few times—though I didn’t know him very well—well she had just received word that he’d hung himself in a prison cell after being arrested for homosexuality.” 

The smile fell from Enjolras’ face. Combeferre squeezed his hand. 

“He had left my mother a note—although I don’t know why he wanted it to be her who read it—maybe because he knew she would care,” she continued. “So in case you still have any doubts about the decriminalisation of homosexuality, i’ll read you the note he wrote.

“Dear beautiful Cosette,

I’m sorry this letter will reach you with such bad news but I’m afraid I have little choice. My world has grown darker by the day and now the hours stretch on pitch black. Perhaps in another life if I had been born in a different body, or with a different heart, I could let myself be in love with him. Yet, I am lost and broken, so don’t begrudge me for this one tiny selfish act. He will hate me more for this than ever before, so I ask that you never show him this letter, so he might let his grief burn up in anger rather than rot and fester in tears. I love a man and for that I am ashamed.

“I love thee with a love I seemed to lose  
With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath,  
Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose,  
I shall but love thee better after death.”

Never again,  
Grantaire.”

Amidst the groaning of elderly men and women, the hum of the air purifier and the cars on the road outside, Enjolras felt the world slow its pace, rewind, back to the days he’d spent with Grantaire. They’d never touched or kissed but love blossomed vivid in the absence. He’d loved him but had never told him. His words had been choked down with fear.

Combeferre held him in his arms while he cried. 

When you get old they say your days feel numbered. Life had always run through Enjolras’ veins so strong he’d never felt the pull of death, not even on hospital tables or at the bedsides of friends as they closed their eyes, one by one. Not when he the nurses had pushed him back into his wheel chair or when he’d fallen and hadn’t gotten up. Now he saw the horizon ahead of him. fading light in the setting sun. Unspeakable darkness and Grantaire’s arms open wide. How long would his body hold up? How long his mind?

When he died a few months later it was with only one regret.

4 - 2014

The energy in the little apartment crackled with life. Courfeyrac, who had been stringing up decorations to the curtain rails, stepped out for a glass of water and Combeferre, who swore he’d have no part in the festivities this year, had snuck into the kitchen to bake celebratory cupcakes. Already the smell was wafting through the rooms as a pleasant mist. 

Enjolras picked his phone off the coffee table and fumbled a bit before he had it unlocked. He’d only brought it last week and the interface was as foreign to him. He couldn’t remember his pin code either. First he tried Courfeyrac’s birthday, then Combeferre’s and finally it unlocked.

The Messanger app was already open, conveniently, and he tapped Grantaire’s name. 

‘Are you coming tomorrow?’

Enjolras was about to put the phone back down when Grantaire replied with impressive punctuality. 

‘Still not sure. Not like I can make up my mind in five minutes.’

Enjolras frowned. ‘It would be nice if you came.’

‘Yeah, I know, but you’re not the one I’m worried about seeing…’

Enjolras pursed his lips in thought, which of their friends would Grantaire be anxious about seeing? He and Combeferre had gotten into a bit of a spat two nights ago, but Grantaire would never think Combeferre was mad at him for more than 24 hours. Combeferre had a Grantaire shaped soft spot that remain inexplicable to Enjolras.

‘Who are you worried about seeing?’

Enjolras had to wait a bit for the next reply.

‘We just had this conversation.’

Enjolras was about to ask ‘what do you mean’ when he thought to scroll up. There were a number of messages he didn’t remember sending, the last of which being ten minutes ago ‘let me know when you make up your mind.’ and Grantaire’s reply: ‘kk :)’.

He pressed the home screen button and the problem became apparent. He was on Courfeyrac’s phone. They both had the same model, although now he was looking Enjolras saw the dent in the top right corner and a number of scratches that his phone hadn’t had time to accumulate yet. It wasn’t the first time in the last few days he’d picked up Courfeyrac’s phone by mistake.

He tapped back into messenger in order to tell Grantaire his mistake when his own name caught his eye. Grantaire and Courfeyrac had been discussing him.

He scrolled up a fair way until he got to the start of the conversation… which had followed on from a previous conversation. Grantaire had texted, clearly drunk, ‘Wy dos he jkhate me?’

‘He doesn’t hate you,’ was Courfeyrac’s reply. ‘Enjolras just gets mad sometimes.’

‘He rlly hatesaad me this lime.’

‘Nah, I just asked him and he said the only things he hates is oppression and gummy bears.’  
Enjolras remembered that conversation. He’d been sitting with Courfeyrac a week ago on this couch getting bored with Thursday night television. He thought Grantaire had just been joking around with Courfeyrac. Grantaire didn’t seriously think he hated him, right?

‘hahaha, opressionsd and gummybers and Graanstaire. Grantor. fuck.’

‘I can’t confirm because he’s telling me about how gummy bears and oppression are related—I think—and he’s not stopping for air, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hate you. Gets frustrated at you, yes, but that’s different to hate.’ 

‘I’m a horribal person.’

‘Go to bed, Grantaire. You'll feel better tomorrow.’

‘no. I never  
‘I never do.’

Grantaire then sent a text message that was too long and error filled for Enjolras to read it, but it ended again with ‘I am a horrible person’ and the rest was a variation on that theme. Enjolras swallowed. He hadn’t realised Grantaire felt that way. It sent a sinking feeling through chest. Why hadn’t Courfeyrac said anything to him?

‘Look Granatire, if you want him to like you more—and I’m not saying he doesn’t like you—then start with being less confrontational. And make an effort to nicer, maybe. And stop putting down his beliefs.’

Grantaire doesn’t reply until the next morning and then it’s only a ‘sorry for last night’ and Courfeyrac: ‘let’s get bagels’.

Enjolras didn’t want to read the rest, but his name popped up again and again as he scrolled down. ‘If I go to the party i’ll just mess it up’… ‘Enjorlas doesn’t want me there’… ‘Enjolras is just being polite’… ‘Please don’t tell Enjolras’… ‘The only reason I go to those meetings is because he’s there’… ‘Like, when he ran his hand through his hair, I just can’t help, he doesn’t even realise he’s fucking gorgeous. And when he purses his lips when he’s angry… It does things to me, man.’

Enjolras felt his face heat up. He’d had no idea that Grantaire… well—a lot of Grantaire’s behaviour seemed to click into place. A lot of it didn’t make any sense. If Grantaire… had feelings… then why did he make it his mission to frustrate Enjolras until Enjolras wanted to bang his head against the wall and scream. 

He scrolled back down to the messages he sent, his thumb poised over them, ready to delete the evidence that he was ever on Courfeyrac’s phone, then hesitated. He should own up to having read the conversation. But what would he say? ‘Grantaire I have read your private conversations and now I know you have feelings.’ He thought of how betrayed Grantaire would look. It was better not to let him know and that way Enjolras wouldn’t have to give those feeling any answers. 

It was then Coufeyrac came back in with a bottle of wine and two glass, making what was probably and exceptional wine pun if Enjolras had been listening and not hastily dropping his phone onto the coffee table.

“Careful with your new phone—“ said Courfeyrac. “Hey, is that my phone? Cheeky!”

“It was an accident,” Enjolras’ face was like an oven. It was radiating heat. God, he must look guilty. 

“Oh no, what did you see!” Courfeyrac sat down beside him and placed the bottle of wine and the glasses on the table. “But first, tell me, how much wine will I need to consume.”

“I—uh—“

“Okay, okay, you have to know that the reason Combeferre is naked is not sex related…”

“Oh my god what?” exclaimed Enjolras, alarmed.

“Haha, I’m kidding,” Courfeyrac shoved his arm. “I couldn’t resist. Seriously, what did you see on there, the most racy thing I have is the diagram I sent to ‘Ferre of what I think is whale sex. Don’t ask me why.”

“I thought it was my phone and I texted Grantaire,” explained Enjolras. “I didn’t mean to read your private conversation but I, well, I have no excuse.”

“And you saw what he said about you?” Courfeyrac looked embarrassed. “How awkward.”

“Don’t tell him I know,” said Enjolras. He studied his hands.

“He’ll figure it out,” said Courfeyrac, pacing a hand on his shoulder. “Not that you read the conversations…. I mean, that you know how he feels about you.”

“What do you mean ‘feels about me’?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Humour me.”

Courfeyrac frowned. “I’m not going to do this. It’s not my business to interfere.”

“Well, you already did didn’t you,” Enjolras snapped. he looked away, towards the decorations dangling in the air. He heard Courfeyrac inhale and crack his knuckles, Click, click, click. A nervous habit that drove Combeferre up the wall when he was there to hear it.

“I would say sorry,” began Courfeyrac.

“No, I’m sorry,” cut in Enjolras. “I was the one who snooped in the first place. I just don’t know how to deal with other people’s feelings. At least… not people I’m friends with.”

“I don’t think you have to ‘deal’ with them, Enjolras,” said Courfeyrac. “They’re Grantaire’s private feelings. He’s never forced you to deal with them.”

“I’m terrible, aren’t I?”

“Nah,” Courfeyrac pulled him into a one armed hug. “You’re fine.”

“What am I going to do about Grantaire, Courfeyrac?—wait, stop, why are you laughing?” Courfeyrac’s mouth twisted with suppressed laughter. He held up a hand as he tried to look serious.

“Enjolras,” he said gravely, “There is only one thing you can do.”

“Don’t say it,” Enjolras covered his ears. “no.”

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac grabbed his wrists and pulled them down. “Hey Enjolras—Follow your heart.”

5 - Three weeks later.

“I hate Christmas!”

“And I hate Wednesdays. Nothing good happens on Wednesday!” 

Enjolras whipped his head around. From a building nearby a someone screamed back, “Shut up, Assholes!”

He craned his neck up to see Grantaire and Jehan leaning against the fire escape railing on the roof of their building, sharing a cigarette. As Enjolras watched Grantaire turned towards the city, hands braced on the iron rails, and shouted at the sky. “I hate this grumpy neighbourhood and the crumby neighbours and basically my shithole of a life.” 

The only answer was the buzz of traffic and a halfhearted ‘Fuck you, man’ from across the street. Jean whooped and picked up a bottle from somewhere near his feet.

Enjolras looked up at the sky in exasperation and made a show of huffing more for anybody watching than for himself. It was late and the street was bathed in a eerie half quiet from lives shut up inside apartments instead of spilling out onto the streets. He could hear the muffled sound of a TV playing infomercials and Grantaire and Jehan’s distant laughter. 

“Also—“ Grantaire had started shouting again. “I want to say screw you to the guy who sold me stale donuts. Screw you donut man!”

“I’m going to call the police.” Enjolras tore his eyes away from his friends to see and old woman half hanging out of her apartment window, glaring up at the roof. “Some people are trying to sleep here.”

She started to pull herself back inside then caught sight of Enjolras watching her. 

“Do you think they’re safe up there?” She asked him. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“Don’t bother,” said Enjolras. “They’re my idiot friends. I’ll go get them.”

She nodded and disappeared. Enjolras rubbed his face and sighed. How embarrassing.

He couldn’t get into the building without buzzing Jehan’s apartment and with the two of them on the roof no one would let him up. he remember the trick Grantaire had boasted about when he locked himself out and had to climb the fire escape. Cautiously, Enjolras pulled the sleeves of his hoodie over his palms and pushed the dumpster in the ally beside the building until it was under the fire escape. It squealed loudly against the stones although Grantaire and Jehan paid it no notice. The old lady poked her head out again and was watching him with suspicion. 

Enjolras climbed onto the dumpster, careful to avoid a wayward banana peel. He jumped up and the plastic lip dipped under his weight. He grabbed the bottom of the fire escape and hoisted himself up, grunting with effort. He sat of the lowest platform, sucking in deep breaths of air, when he heard Grantaire shout “I have one more confession!”

“That’s right get it off your chest,” Jehan shouted back.

“I am in love!”

“Woo!” jehan screeched. “And who are you in love with?”

“I love Enjolras!” replied Grantaire. “he is as beautiful as the sun in the late afternoon when it is all soft and sweet like melting butter. His hair feels like silk and his eyes are coolest, loveliest pools on the highest mountain side tended by the chastest of virgins—“

“—I thought you told me they were filthy, naughty eyes?” chimed in Jehan.

“—Chastest of virgins about to part their supple legs for the first time…”

“Oh god,” Enjolras muttered. “Shut up shut up shut up…”

By the time he’d clambered to the top Grantaire was describing his feet in pornographic detail and Enjolras thought his cheeks might actually burn off his face. Jean screamed when Enjolras appeared at his feet and the entire fire escape rocked dangerously. 

“Enjolras!” Grantaire cried. “Did you hear my words across the city?”

“This is Enjolras, everyone!” Shouted Jehan. Enjolras clamped a hand over his mouth. 

“No more shouting,” he hissed. “You are disturbing the peace—don’t lick me!”

He snatched his hand back.

“You didn’t like my poetry?” Grantaire swayed dangerously close to the edge. Enjolras grabbed his shoulders and hauled him onto the roof proper. Grantaire collapsed against him, his arms wrapping around his neck like two tiny pythons, and Enjolras staggered backwards under his weight. Jean started giggling, which he only did while drunk, and then he started singing and convincing the two of them to come off the roof and back into the apartment became a battle of limbs and voices. Grantaire’s breath tickled the shell of his ear while he dragged him down the stair case. It took Jehan five minutes to find the right key and unlock the door and all the while Grantaire’s hands were tangling themselves in his hair.

“I’m only doing this because I’m drunk,” he told Enjolras. “And because you remind me of Enjolras.”

Enjolras patted his head and lead him into his bedroom. It took some convincing to get him under the sheets and then to let go of his hands. Jean had fallen asleep on an arm chair when Enjolras emerged. He was light enough that Enjolras could carry him into his own room and lie him down. 

All he wanted to was to be at home curled up in his Egyptian cotton sheets with the buzz of his electric blanket soothing him to sleep. Instead he pillowed his head on sore arms on Jehan’s couch with a stretchy wool blanket flung over his legs. He hung on to the edge of wakefulness while listening for Grantaire’s snores just in case he vomited and choked. Eventually concern dissolved into sleep and he dreamed of blood, of fire, and old creaking bones. Rope burn, whiskey, crackling hospital curtains and electronics beeping, crowds cheering, guns shots, whispered words… I love you, I love you, I love you.

 

+1 - The next morning.

Jehan nursed his head between his fingers. His eyes were red and puffy and his hair, usually straight and silky, stuck up in frizzy tendrils. He moaned and pressed his forehead against his knees.

“Why, Enjolras why?”

Enjolras didn’t have a lot of sympathy for hangovers but he stroked Jehan’s back anyway. His coffee mug was starting to burn him through his jeans where he’d wedged it and he eyed his tablet on the coffee table, open on a very intriguing article. He was trying to strain his eyes to read the next sentence when Jehan spoke again.

“Did we really shout random confessions off the roof?”

“Yes,” replied Enjolras.

“Our neighbours are going to hate us,” he moaned. “Well, hate us more.”

“Yeah.” If he could just make out the next few words…

“Enjolras!”

“What” Enjolras gave up and turned back to Jehan.

“So you heard… R’s confession?”

“Grantaire made a lot of confessions last night.”

“The one about you?” Jean bit his lip. “You didn’t hear that did you?”

“At length,” said Enjolras dryly. “But it’s not like I didn’t already know.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jehan gripped his temple with both hands. “You knew about R’s feelings? For how long? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Enjolras shifted and tugged down his wrinkled shirt. “Maybe I was nervous…”

“Nervous about what?” Jehan croaked. “Telling him to bugger off?”

“Wow,” Enjolras shook his head, curls bouncing. “I wasn’t—okay, I stand by wow.”

“Just—“ Jehan tugged on his hair. “Try not to totally blow his heart into smithereens then piss on the pieces. I’m way, way, way too hung over for this conversation. Let him down easy blah, blah, blah.”

“You were all for the confessions last night,” Enjolras reminded him  
.  
“I was drunk last night,” replied Jehan.

“So…” Enjolras fiddled with the bottom of his shirt. “What if I—uh, well—what if I was planning on returning his… uh affections? I am just trying to find the right time to say it.”

Behind them something crashed to the floor. Enjolras leapt off the couch and Jehan shrieked and clutched his head. Grantaire was standing behind them in the doorway. On the floor the scattered remains of his flip-phone skidded away from him. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered. He ducked down to scoop them up. “I’ll just go back to bed and wake up now.”

“Grantaire!” Enjolras called out as Grantaire turned and made a hasty exit. Jehan moaned and curled in on himself.

Enjolras’ hands flopped to his sides helplessly.

“What are you doing?” Jehan demand, teeth clenched.

“What do you mean,” asked Enjolras.

“I mean, follow him,” exclaimed Jehan. “Don’t just stand there, go go go! Confess! Don’t break his heart!”

“Right—ow!” Enjolras found his feet and hurried around the couch, banging his thigh on the arm rest as he went. Grantaire was sitting cross legged on his bed, his hands running over his phone, sliding the battery and cover into place. Enjolras pushed the door open gently but it creaked loud enough to rouse both heaven and hell regardless. Grantaire’s head snapped up.

“Am I still asleep?”

“Just as awake as I am,” said Enjolras. He sat on the bed beside Grantaire. “We have to talk.”

“Just tell me straight up,” said Grantaire. “If you were joking about having feelings for me to Jehan—which would be a pretty crappy joke. Just tell me.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras took his hand. “I think I might have feelings for you. Romantic feelings.”

Grantaire’s fingers trembled over Enjolras’. “I don’t belief you.”

“Why not?” Enjolras frowned. “Do you not feel the same way?”

“I—“ Grantaire hesitated. Then he spoke. “Why now, Enjolras. I have had feelings for you for years. Why would you suddenly return them now?”

“Why not now?” Enjolras squeezed his hand. “Grantaire will you go out with me?”

“What if this ends horribly?”

“Grantaire, will you go out with me?”

“We drive each other crazy, Enjolras.”

“Grantaire, will you—“

“Yes! Yes of course I will!”  
Grantaire’s ears were turning red. Enjolras saw that he was trying not to smile. He ran his hand up Grantaire’s arm and wrapped it around his neck.

“We’ll figure it out,” Enjolras assured him. He kissed Grantaire’s cheek. 

“Oh my god,” said Grantaire, under his breath. “You are— I don’t even know. You’re amazing.”

“As are you,” Enjolras cupped his face in his hands. He felt Grantaire slide his hands over his back. Reassuring. Comforting. “Amazing.”

Enjolras kissed Grantaire.

Finally, everything seemed like it would be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Hit me up on Tumblr: scathiee.tumblr.com
> 
> 2\. Let me know if you liked this. Feed my narcissistic tendencies... point out my dubious spelling mistakes.
> 
> 3\. The line Grantaire quotes is from Ovid's Metamorphosis Book 3 Echo and Narcissus.
> 
> 4\. The poem Grantaire quotes in his suicide note is 'How do I love thee?' by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.


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